


Trigger Heart

by SpitfireRose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Game Spoilers, Gladio is patient and everything Prompto deserves, Nightmares of a Bad Time, Prompto has trouble telling what's real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:47:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: When Gladio awakes to a gun pressed against his temple and the command to speak, he knows just what to do. It's a routine that hasn't become any easier since having rescued the blond.





	Trigger Heart

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the inspiration for this work here, by the talented Kaciart http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/162563179628

“ _Talk_.” The order is practically spat out from behind the cold metal that kisses Gladiolus’s temple, uncharacteristically chilling azure crystals glaring down into the calm amber. Every movement is scrutinized by the blond as Gladio slowly raises empty hands in surrender.

Prompto’s posture is in top form despite having snapped awake before the swordsman, quick to pin him down by straddling his waist, no time wasted in summoning Quicksilver in a flash of blinding blue light. Gladio goes against all the training he endured as the Prince’s Shield, lessons drilled into his very core to deal with any attackers thinking they could slip by in the dark of the night. He doesn’t rise to his feet with a warrior’s howl, doesn’t call upon his great blade to easily dispatch the gunner hovering above him. Instead he does as he’s asked, voice still holding the softness reserved only for Prompto, saved especially when his lover had lost his way in the crevice of ruthless nightmares.

“When we first met for Crownsguard training, I figured that was it. You were a scrawny little thing–still are–, but you kept on showing up no matter how bad you were beaten. You were so determined to prove yourself. Noct told me how your parents were never home, and so I invited you over to dinner that same night. Pretty sure Dad wanted to adopt you. Could tell how important we were to each other before we did.”

A flicker of recollection passes in a blink, the blond shifting ever so slightly, weapon unwavering at point blank.

“You twisted your ankle during your final training, but you didn’t let anyone know. You were so damn happy when you passed, nearly lost ya when the adrenaline wore off. ‘Course, you said it didn’t hurt, but I knew better. I carried you to the doctor’s, and you didn’t complain once. I was so proud of you that day. You recruited Iris into handing me a love note afterwards because you were too shy still to do it yourself–probably why she’s a sappy romantic. You signed it as a ‘secret admirer’, but I knew it was you.”

“…Tell me what it said.” There’s an edge in his tone, trying to sound so intimidating as if to conceal the crack in composure. Gladio has it memorized by heart, shred of paper secretly treasured as a bookmark in the novel he’s never without.

“‘Roses are red, violets are blue. Hey, Gladio, I…kinda love you. How hopeless am I, right? It’s just whenever I see you fight….You’re also so nice, making my heart beat twice. I don’t know if you’d ever love someone like me, but maybe meet at your favorite noodle place around three?’” He catches Prompto subtly mouthing the words underneath his breath, eyes narrowing as it’s recited word for word.

Silence fills the bedroom, followed by the deafening ‘click’ of ammunition locking into place. Gladio knows he’s right, and Prompto does, too.

_“This isn’t fair._ ” The traitorous thought is uttered aloud, along with the start of a sniffle that tries to play off as a shaky inhale of breath and nothing more with a bite on his quivering bottom lip. Inner turmoil is clashing in conflicted cerulean, bloodshot red rimming around the edges with rapid blinks. Still, Prompto remains firm, fingers skittish over the trigger.

“When I saw your stretchmarks for the first time, you were so embarrassed that you tried to cover up. I told you that you were beautiful just as you were, that they were another thing to love about you. Dedication, courage, strength. You thought yourself so unworthy of love and cried as I kissed them and held you close.”

Whatever will Prompto had managed to scrape together is shattered at the statements, completely unfazed by Gladio’s gentle grip on his wrists, coaxing the gun away before harmlessly vanishing from whence it came in a flash of teal. The gunner makes no movements, makes no sound, only staring past his lover as realization kicks in but a second later with an exhale that takes the air out of him. If the blond says anything, Gladio doesn’t catch it as he immediately sits up, catching Prompto before he slumps entirely forward.

“ _Oh–Oh, G–Gods–_ ” Hot tears stream down onto tattooed feathers, muscled arms securely wrapped around the blond as if to keep him from completely breaking down. His hands are still raised from holding the weapon, tucked between bodies, and it hurts that he can’t cling onto the man like he so desperately wants to. Maybe it’s best this way, that there’s less risk to harm him.  _“I–I–I almost–”_

“You didn’t.” Gladio assures him, repeats it as many times as necessary and more, hand carding up into the disheveled blond locks and cradling the back of his head. Endless apologies are sobbed into his bare shoulder, and he massages soothing circles on his trembling back. “Ssh, Prom. It’s okay. You went through hell at the hands of that bastard, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m here. We’re in this together, and I need you to breathe, okay? Breathe with me, Prompto. Can you do that?”

Prompto nods, albeit shakily, interrupted by hiccups. He squirms in Gladio’s tight hold, released just enough to get comfortable and to wind his own arms around the broad chest. He feels infinitely better just at that, melting into him. Further words of comfort are murmured into Prompto’s ear between measured breaths, counted by tender kisses pressed on top of the crown of gold.

Together with Gladio, he’s warm and safe and loved.

When the next time inevitably comes, he’s terrified he won’t be so lucky.


End file.
